Shooting at shadows

The thing about leaving home to buy a few groceries from the shop down the street is that you usually expect to come home to, well... a house. And your family. The same family that was creating an absolute ruckus before you left home. Arguments and threats and bets. Like a typical, normal, family.

And what you don't expect, is to see your house burned down. Firemen rushing in and out. Water drenched the walls and everything that was stuck on it. All the 'artwork' of your younger siblings and posters on the room walls of your elder ones.

No. You certainly don't expect that every. Single. Important person that you've ever known to simply be... dead.

But, this is exactly what Marcellus faced.

The packet fell from his hand and then he felt his knees give in, falling hard onto the gravel of the pavement.

How? How had it happened? Had his brothers been playing with matches again? They'd done it multiple times. Lighting random papers on fire and then rushing to put them out before the flame spread too much and burned its surroundings.

Had his mother left the stove on too long?

Had his sister burnt something in the oven?

No. None of that could create destruction on this level, right?

It had to be something else.

He looked around, trying to capture a familiar face. No one. No one to to smile and reassure him that everything was all right. No one that he could run to in relief and throw his arms around.

He looked to the building opposite. Stared at it long and hard. Something seemed wrong. It was usually deserted and empty. But he could swear he'd just seen someone running through one of the windows.

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. What did that matter, now? It's funny the things you notice in a situation like this. Like how there was a flower right next to his knee, still slowly burning.

He wanted to blow it out, but as he began to bend down, something whizzed past his ear and tore the flower straight out of the pavement.

What? What was that?

It had come from behind. He turned around again and scanned the opposite building. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Wait. There. On the roof.

It was a sunny, hot, and sticky day. He shaded his eyes and forced them to focus.

A gleam. Sparkle on the rooftop. A figure in black is just behind.

Before he could register what exactly was the scene he was looking at, someone grabbed him.

Picked him clean off the pavement and ran. He was too stunned to react. His mind couldn't keep up with all the events surrounding him.

He wanted to scream.

So he did. Only to have a hand slap onto his mouth. He thrashed about, kicking and clawing.

"Stop that. You're in danger. Move too much and he'll spot you again." a voice warned in his ear.

They were up against the side of his house. The part that could still see the opposite building but also hid them in the shadows of the trees.

He stopped moving. His body relaxed slowly." Put me down."

It was his own voice, his throat raw.

The man let go of him and turned Marcellus to face him.

"Are you okay? " he asked.

"Who are you?" Marcellus took a step back, ready to run.

The man pulled him back into the shadows. "Do you want to die?" he glared.

"Do you?"

The man raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Do you really plan on killing me after I've just saved your life?"

"Saved me?" Marcellus shook his head. "From what? The fire? If that's the case, you're too late. The whole house has already burned down."

The man shook his head in amusement. "You've got a mouth on you, you know that?"

Marcellus swallowed. His sister used to tell him the same thing whenever he got snappy. He was usually a placid, quiet boy who minded his own business.

"Sorry," he mumbled

The man nodded and patted him on his back. "He'll be here in a moment."

"Who?"

"My driver." he gestured with his head to the car coming down the road in their direction. It was a black car. Smart. Expensive.

The car stopped and a man jumped out of the driver's seat and walked around to open the door.

"I've told you countless times, Emil, I can do it myself. Stay in the car." the man said to him, his voice gentle and kind.

Emil smiled at his boss and shook his head, "Just doing my job, sir."

He opened the car and the man gestured for Marcellus to hop in. He sat down and shifted inward to allow space for the older man.

Once the door was shut and Emil had them on their way, Marcellus turned to face his rescuer. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Aziz. And yours?"

"Marcellus. Where are we going?"

"To my house."

Marcellus turned to face him. "What? Why? I thought you'd take me to the police station so we could give a report."

Aziz shook his head. "It's too dangerous. He knows you're alive, he'll be looking for you."

"He who?"

"The man who shot at you from behind."

"How do you know I was his target?"

"Well, let's think it through." Aziz turned to face Marcellus as much as his seat belt would allow. "and pardon my frankness. Your entire family is dead, yes?"

Marcellus looked down, tears welling up, "We don't know that for sure." he replied, his voice swelling with emotion.

"True, but let's assume that that's what your shooter thinks. And if they've all passed in the fire, then the only remaining one... Is you. And so long as you're alive, his job is incomplete."

Marcellus looked at him, confused. "You think someone wanted to kill us? The fire wasn't an accident?"

"It was probably made to look like one, but the fact that someone tried to kill you immediately after, makes this all seem quite suspicious, don't you think?"

Marcellus closed his eyes and lay his head on the thick leather seat. He didn't want to think. He was hungry and confused and tired. Not physically tired, but some sort of emotional wariness.

" My house is quite far. We'll stop to get you something to eat on the way, and you can rest for the remainder of the journey. Sounds good?"

Marcellus smiled for the first time since he'd met Aziz. "You read my mind."

Aziz chuckled, "I often get told that actually." then he studied Marcellus for a moment. "How old are you, Marcellus?"

"Twe. But my sister always said I have the soul and mind of someone beyond my years, whatever that means. She liked speaking in sonnets."

"The fact that you know what a sonnet is, at your age, means she was correct. You're an intelligent boy."

"Thanks." Marcellus yawned. "You remind me of her a lot. I think you'd both have a lot to talk about if you ever met."

"Meet." Aziz countered, "she may still be alive."

But Marcellus was already asleep, head lolling gently as Emil drove. Aziz unclipped the boy's seat belt and gently laid his head on his lap and rearranged his body so he was comfortable.

He had no idea what this path of helping Marcellus would lead to, but he suspected it would be fun, interesting, and full of danger.

He knew others probably didn't agree with him, but he found that danger had a certain allure to it. It begged you to play with it. How could anyone resist?